


The Elvish Waltz

by FactorialRabbits



Series: OC studies [6]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Romance, Third Age, Very slightly altered canon, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/pseuds/FactorialRabbits
Summary: When visiting Imladris for a war council, King Araphor of Arthedain is invited to the hall of fire for the evening. Meanwhile, Celebrian is attempting to get her legally dead, royal ward a happy ending.





	The Elvish Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> For the B2MEM prompt 'dealing with house guests', scoring me a line on the Lord and Lady of Imladris card. 
> 
> This is a bit of an odd story, largely because it serves as sequel to one I haven't written yet (if prompt 61 comes up in the next few days you will see it soon, otherwise its in my stack of 'definitly would like to' ideas). Still, it is finished, and I think it works alone?
> 
> Relevant details from the fic that doesn't exist: Gonwen is 
> 
> The setting is about 10 years after Cardolan falls, so about 1419 TA. Gonwen was the daughter of the last king of Cardolan,. She was about 14 when her kingdom fell, and ended up escaping to Rivendell, where she has been hiding since. She has actually been doing things for her people from there, but is also assumed dead by all but the most optimistic of refugees.

It had been a long afternoon. King Araphor had arrived at Imladris with a day to spare before the war council soon to occur, and had been politely greeted by the Lord a little way from the house. Once there the Lord had made his apologies, and left him in the care of one of his senior staff. Said staff member - a Master Erestor, if he recalled correctly - had had his escort escorted to their rooms, and shown Araphor to his suite personally.

The suite was obviously designed for a couple, but even more obviously for senior nobles of Arthedain. That they kept rooms for such in their mansion was bizarre to him, but he had not had time to ask before he had been presented with an itinerary, a tray of fresh fruits and a servant sent to draw him a bath.

Every one of his needs was seen to in a whirlwind of activity, and shortly after a light dinner he was invited to an evening in ‘the hall of fire’.

Remembering vaguely the directions from his last visit, he had made his own way there and quickly found himself enjoying the company of his guardsman; the elves came by to introduce themselves from time to time, but seemed content to leave him to himself.

And, well, he was content to be left to himself as well; someone had suggested card games.

He was about to lose when the Lord and Lady of Imladris appeared, and the cards quickly hidden away - who knew the elven position on gambling. Their arms were linked, his free one tucked into the small of his back and hers ensuring she did not trip on the truly ludicrous quantity of skirts. Each wore jewels in their hair, and embedded into their robes.

Both moved with an ageless grace, the Lady’s face welcoming if fae, and the Lord’s kind but distant. 

For all he was the more senior as King of Arthedain, whereas these elves were merely Lord and Lady, Araphor felt the need to bow deeply before him.

The Lady curtseyed back, and the Lord gave a small bow.

“King Arthedain,” the Lady’s voice was bright, grounded in a way contradictory to her appearance. “We welcome you and your people to our Hall of Fire. I am the Lady Celebrian; I apologise for my absence on your arrival, but matters of the house were delayed.”

“I welcome you once more, your majesty. You may avail yourselves of the refreshments; the musicians shall begin shortly,” the Lord’s voice was exactly how Araphor remembered it.

It was evident that Araphor was supposed to speak at that point, but it was hard to construct words as the light flickered between Lord and Lady. They were strangely shadowed by the fire, adding 

The Lord seemed to notice, coming to his rescue, “Please, eat and be merry; there is no danger within these halls, and the evening is yet young.”

Both Lord and Lady gave him polite bows, before drifting in the direction of the musicians. 

Araphor turned back to his escorts, attempted to shoo them away, and went to find the refreshments as spoken of. 

* * *

Celebrian, primary duties as hostess seen to, knocked on her ward’s door. Her children were all away, visiting friends at the Havens, but she had long ago realised her husband would always take his brother’s descendants in when they had no other place to go. In many ways, those they took in were as much her children as those of her body.

There was a muted reply permitting entry, so she slipped inside.

Gonwen lay sprawled before the fire, an open tome left ignored before her as she stared blindly into the flames.

“My dear?” Celebrian quietly shut the door behind her. “We are hosting a party for Araphor-King. Do you wish to join us?”

“I do not wish to disturb the day; I will greet him at the council tomorrow,” Gonwen still did not look up.

Celebrian stepped over to the bookshelf, taking one of the many tomes and sitting in one of the chairs by the fire.

“You are not required to keep me company.”

“I will leave if you ask me to, else I will stay with you,” Celebrian opened the book, laying it out and skimming over the text.

Gonwen slowly pulled herself to sitting properly, then rested her own tome on her lap. Silently, the two women read together.

A chapter and a half in, Celebrian noticed that Gonwen had closed her book, and was now staring at her.

“Yes, my dear?”

“I… Will he be kind?” hesitation shone in Gonwen’s eyes. “Your people are, but I know what men think of…” 

Celebrian’s heart fell as Gonwen gestured at the scars maring her body, “I believe he is, but if he is in any way cruel send someone for me; I will see him in his place…”

Gonwen nodded hesitantly, “I wish to dance. Your people dance incorrectly.”

“Then we shall see you dance,” Celebrian swallowed the laughter at an elf being told they danced wrong. “If you like, we could try put together an outfit to detract?”

Her ward considered it a moment, before shaking her head, “help me make one to make it obvious? If he is going to be cruel, I would rather know as soon as possible.”

“Then we shall do that; I think I know the dress,” Celebrian drifted towards Gonwen’s wardrobe. “On our way I shall collect a shawl; if it gets to much, ask me for it.”

“It will not get too much. I am Gonwen of Cardolan; I will not be broken by staring,” the words were filled with anxiety expertly crafted into pride.

“Very well. Still, if you get cold, I am only wearing it as a fashion statement. I hear they all the rage in Umbar at current.”

“Oh of course, Lady Celebrian of Imladris follows the fashions of Umbar.”

“Well, someone has to update the spy network on their costumes.”

They both descended into genuine, if piercing, giggling.

* * *

Araphor was deep in discussion with Lord Elrond, both of them having descended into talk of the war despite the informal occasion. He did not notice the Lady of Imladris and another, vaguely familiar and mortal, woman approach, until Lord Elrond paused and looked up.

Then Araphor did as well, making an assessment of the newcomer.

Her face was held in a perpetual frown, while the low cut of her dress clearly displayed deep scars across her throat and chest. Araphor suspected that the two matters might be related. He quickly skimmed over the scars, focusing on her dress - mannish cut and colouring, her hair was worn in elvish braids and the dress had been altered from the standard patterns, currently fashionable in Arthedain, to give a greater freedom of movement to the wearer. He would approximate her as a few years younger than himself.

The Lady of Imladris led the woman over, both of them giving him small curtseys, “May I present to you my ward, Princess Gonwen of Cardolan?” 

He was only slightly startled by the name; when Cardolan fell there had been rumours of the princess’ escape, though rumours they had remained as the people were slain or disappeared. That she had turned up in Imladris, where lost princes and princesses of the three kingdoms were not irregularly found, did not surprise him. Looking over her again, he noted that she looked every inch like her father, the late king.

“My dear, this is Araphor, King Arthedain,” the Lady of Imladris gently pressed the princess forwards.

The princess bobbed in a small curtsey, one appropriate for a Queen-In-Exile to address a King, not a princess, “I am at your service, your majesty.”

“And I am at yours,” Araphor stood only so he could bow for her. Her words were as stern as her expression, which twitched into a tiny smile at the bow.

In Araphor’s eyes, that tiniest hint of joy lit up the entire room.

The musicians struck up a new song across the room - one undisputedly familiar to him. Noting the atmosphere of the hall, and the slight nod the Lady gave Princess Gonwen, he was not at all surprised when said princess took a step forward. She looked at him with trepidation; did she not wish to dance?

“I am fond of this song,” there was the slightest hint of a question in her words.

Not that, then. But surely no one would have been as rude as not to offer in her past.

“My lord and lady,” he bowed to the Lord and Lady, and then to Gonwen as he offered her a hand. “May you grant me the honour of this dance?”

The anxiety on her face morphed swiftly into elation that many would have been unable to see. She slipped her hand into his, moving with a strange juxtaposition of stiffness and grace. 

As they made their way to a space open enough to dance, Araphor noticed the Lady of Imladris whisper something in the Lord’s ear, and them both giggle like blushing adolescents in reply. There was something off about the whole thing, but he could not precisely place what.

Gonwen hesitated slightly before slipping into the proper pose, and he turned his attention back to the beautiful Queen in his arms.

* * *

Later that night, Elrond and Celebrian had escaped to their rooms. Celebrian was already dressed in something more comfortable, and helping Elrond escape the jewels tightly twisted into his hair.

“I think that was a resounding success,” she smiled as she spoke, distracting her husband from the tug on his scalp.

“You are certain?”

“Oh absolutely,” Celebrian nodded to herself. “Infact, I would expect a wedding invite in… Two years or so. He was enchanted her, and she was besotted with him.”

“Will she be happy if that is do?”

Celebrian considered this question for a long time before answering, “I think… She will be happier with him than us, and I cannot think of where else she would be more so.”

“I see.” Elrond’s words were blunt.

They passed into pensive, awkward silence, which neither broke until the sun rose again.


End file.
